


The Curious Feeling of Falling

by summerwines



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Name Changes, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwines/pseuds/summerwines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru learns a few things about the universe: If it gives you what you want, it can easily take it away. But if you try hard enough, you can choose where it takes you. If you’re forced to fade, if everything decides to fall, you can always choose to begin again. [Reincarnation AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Feeling of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hey. A fic for **Ori** on the [2013 Makoto Birthday Exchange](http://makotobirthdayexchange.tumblr.com/makobday). Dude, I had so much fun with your prompt, so I do hope you like it.
> 
> Specials thanks to Miaou who deserves a round of applause for being a wonderful organizer.

The light in his eyes disappears, and suddenly he’s no longer in bed. There’s a boat, rocking on the ocean, and there’s a pail of fish, sitting there, wet and smelly. He is standing on a port, and he realizes that he has to go down. He has to ride the boat.

His fingers turn wrinkly and his hair turns white. A coat, baggy and brown, appears around his torso. He sails, pulling the oar with whatever strength he has left. The currents are steady; the waves are weak.

Once he’s far from the shore, he sits, peacefully, looking up to a dark sky, the sounds of seagulls surrounding him. 

Rain starts to drip, and it streams down his face.

 _I’ll join you now_ , he tells himself, before he closes his eyes, and takes in the ocean smell.

In a moment, everything falls.

A tear is on his cheek. Haru wakes up, seeing the rays of the sun jutting in through his curtains. He wipes the tear, fast, and he squints. He lifts himself onto his elbow. It doesn’t feel like morning. It feels more like the dead of night. 

He turns and he sees him, sleeping at his side. Makoto is here with him, and that was all a dream, though it felt horribly real. He lies back down, settling his head and his hand on Makoto’s chest. 

His eyes shut tight. He heaves out a breath. There is a throbbing pain in his head, and it won’t go away. His only resolve, right now, is to grab Makoto’s shirt and hope he can forget, and move on, and feel warm again. 

+

Only Haru will ever remember this.

He’s running up a slope to catch the train back home. The canvas under his arm slows him down, though he makes it just in time for the doors to close. 

From the window, he sees rain starting to pelt down. He walks over to a seat, though he’s not paying attention to where he’s going. He’s staring at everything outside, the rain, and the lights from the city.

He stands still, realizing that there are no more vacant seats and that he has to stand up for the whole trip. 

“Nice weather today, ne?” comes a voice, and he turns to see a tall man wearing big circle glasses looking out the window, just as Haru was a few moments ago.

Haru nods. “Yeah,” he says, before he looks away.

For the rest of the trip, they stand side-by-side, in silence and in awe of the rain. They get off at the same stop, and Haru loses him among a small crowd of people.

This is how they first met, though it’s not how everything starts.

+

For Haru, it starts when he’s about eight or so, in a room with walls panted white.

The first thing he paints on a canvas is a waterfall hidden behind a line of trees. He does it again and again for practice, but he still enjoys it every time.

A woman with brown hair is right behind him, scrutinizing his every movement. She tells his parents a saying by Vincent Van Gogh, as a way to make them less nervous, “Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.” 

Haru’s parents told him that if he impresses this woman, he’ll get into a good school.

He paints what he sees in his head. It’s clear to him, how the shades of blue are supposed to crash down. It’s beautiful. It makes him feel nostalgic, and it makes him smile brightly.

+

Weeks later, he’s on a train, all alone, showing a note to a tall woman in a black uniform. He rides in his own compartment, where he’s told to keep still. They take the suitcase in his hand and they tell him he’s a very lucky boy, to have the opportunity to be enrolled in such a good school.

+

The boarding school he’s sent to teaches the boys and girls that in this new century, _you artists are invaluable_. All of the children sit and listen with their eyes agape and their mouths parted in awe. 

Today, he works with traditional materials. They are told to make something in monochrome, so Haru chooses the inkstick for his piece.

He draws on silk, spread out on a long table. The boy beside him, a shorter boy with blonde hair, is asking him how he can manage to make his lines so straight. Haru shrugs. The boy says, “I don’t think I’ll last in this school. I can never be as good as everyone else.” Haru looks at what the other boy is doing, sees that he’s struggling with the pigment he cooked up in a mortar and pestle. 

Haru says, “I’m sure you can think of something.”

His work is given the highest mark in the class. He feels quite proud of it himself. He drew a beach, where two boys are flying fish kites in the distance, yet another faded dream etched in his brain.

The shorter boy drops out of the school a week later. Haru hasn’t even learned his name. The teachers say he couldn’t cope; he wasn’t exceptional enough.

Haru’s heart sinks a little when he finds out. He thought he made a friend.

+

He’s a prodigy, they say. All of them are. Which is why they need all the opportunities they can get.

When the year comes that they have to think about the future, most of them apply to top art colleges in the country. Haru hasn’t, and nor has two of his friends, Inoue and Saito. The two girls don’t think top schools have much bearing on their lives at all.

Haru applies to a college in Kyoto. It’s not known for much, but it treats its students well.

 _You will all be amazing_ , their teachers always told them. Those top art schools offer them the chance to be just that. Though, the thing is, Haru doesn’t want that. He just wants a clean, well-lighted place where he can paint and draw in peace.

+

They don’t know what it’s like to live among people who aren’t like _them_ , so Haru and his friends end up feeling out of place in their new surroundings.

Inoue starts scouting for boyfriends during the first week. She fails, and she tells Haru that she just wanted to try it out, for once. She doesn’t really know how it works. Haru can’t give any advice, because he knows nothing about flirting and boyfriends and love.

Saito is better than both of them, because she’s a smart and beautiful butterfly, as Inoue puts it. She could get a boyfriend if she wanted one. People actually think her clumsiness is endearing. She trips, blushes, squeals, and people help her. If Haru did that, everyone would probably stand there and stare, while he shrinks in embarrassment. Saito says, “No, that’s not true. Besides, I don’t need anyone else. I’ve got _you_ guys!”

So they all sit together in the workroom for the painters. Inoue paints, Saito paints, and Haru paints. They are mostly quiet.

Haru makes exactly one friend in the first month. The guy helped him out with his things in the train. “You look like you’re having a tough time there,” he said.

He was the boy in the train, the one who liked rain. He and Haru are usually riding at the same times almost every day. Haru thinks they might even live on the same street.

He’s tall, he wears big circle glasses, and he thinks rainy weather is good weather. He likes wearing cardigans over white shirts, and he’s always in shorts. He’s also always reading a book, thick ones, usually fantasy, volumes Haru would never dream of finishing. Haru doesn’t know his name, only knows his voice.

“I’ll see you around then, yeah?” he tells Haru, as he places Haru’s canvas down on the floor of the workroom.

“Yeah,” Haru says, nodding.

It’s then that he asks for his name.

“Aoyama,” he says, with a smile. “Aoyama Makoto.”

“I’m Haru.” A gulp. “Um—Hasegawa—Hasegawa Haruka, actually.”

Later, Inoue tells Haru that she saw him with that Aoyama fellow. Haru says, “Yeah, he helped me out.”

Inoue says he must be a giant dork, because of his big glasses and those socks he wears with his sandals. Haru thinks he must be wonderful, because his smile is so bright.

+

He’s a literature major, and he likes to write in his spare time. When he’s reading a book in the train, he always has to adjust his glasses again and again. 

Their friendship is a weird one, Haru would say, because it’s mostly composed of chance encounters at stores, libraries, cafés, and hallways.

One day, after school, Haru thinks it’d be a good idea to go over to the supermarket. He still has ingredients at home, but that doesn’t stop him.

He assumes it’s a complete coincidence that Aoyama is there.

“We just keep on running into each other, don’t we?” Aoyama says, holding his paper bag with a cereal box jutting out of it.

“Yeah,” Haru says. He’s holding a plastic, with frozen fish, a jar of pineapple slices, and bottles of seasoning. 

They walk together on the sidewalk. It’s getting dark, though people are only starting to fill the diners and the ramen shops. Haru smells fish simmering from an outdoor food stand, and it makes his heart flutter a little, because he’s excited to cook his mackerel at home.

“Are you cooking tonight?” Aoyama asks him, just when they reach a stoplight for a pedestrian lane.

Haru nods. “Mackerel,” he says, with a hint of smile.

“Oh really?” Aoyama laughs, with a hint of weariness. “I can’t seem to stomach the stuff these days. But to each his own, right?”

They walk through the lane, feet moving fast. “Maybe you just haven’t tried it the way I cook it,” Haru says, without meeting Aoyama’s eyes.

“Oh? Then I’d like to try it sometime.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll bring some to school tomorrow.”

“Okay. That’s settled then.”

Haru learns in a while that Aoyama lives only two buildings away from him. When they get there, they say their goodbyes, and Aoyama says, “I look forward to the mackerel.” Haru nods, and assures him he won’t be disappointed.

Dinner is cooked and Haru enjoys a whole plate for himself. He leaves a large piece of the fish to be heated in the morning.

The next day, they eat their first lunch together. They sit on a bench under a tall tree. Haru hands Aoyama the mackerel in a bento box, along with rice and vegetables. Aoyama laughs, nervously, before he takes the chopsticks and eats up his meal. 

It’s a success. Haru smiles, because Aoyama looks genuinely surprised that he likes the taste of the food. “This is good,” he goes, and then he smiles. Haru says, “I told you,” before he looks down, takes his chopsticks, and eats his own meal. 

+

Haru draws on his sketchpad, while Saito and Inoue are busy finishing their paintings for one of their classes. Haru’s already finished his, and he doesn’t want to linger on it any longer, so he decides now would be a good time to draw.

He does it like he always does: by winging it. It’s all formed out of a picture in his head. Today, it’s a gazebo atop a cliff, with the sea glimmering softly in the background. A boy stands with his arms on the fence, hair being blown by the wind. Haru thinks this boy must be afraid of what he’s looking at. Haru doesn’t know why, but he is.

“You’ve been seeing Aoyama a lot, haven’t you, Haru-chan?” comes a voice, which makes Haru look up.

Inoue looks at him with a cheeky grin and an arched eyebrow. “Well? Explain yourself, Haru,” she says. Her hands are still holding her paintbrush and palette, and Haru thinks she should just go back to work.

“Michiko-chan, Haru-chan doesn’t need to explain anything to us. He’s a big boy,” says Saito, whose eyes are still on her painting. “If he’s dating someone, we don’t need to be butting in.”

“Oh yes we do,” Inoue says.

“No, you don’t,” Haru says. “And we’re not dating. We’re just friends.”

“But do you like him?”

“Of course I do, he’s my friend.”

“But do you like like him? As in, you know—Haru-chan, you understand right?”

Haru swiftly turns back to his drawing. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, even though he does.

“You like him, admit it,” Inoue says.

“Can you quit it, please?”

Inoue harrumphs, and Saito says, “Haru’s right, let’s not talk about this.” Inoue rolls her eyes and says Haru’s being way too secretive. She says she’s an open book, and it’s pretty unfair that Haru isn’t. 

Haru says, “Yeah, well, that’s you.”

“Can you at least tell us what he’s like?” she says back.

“No, I can’t,” he says, because he really can’t. Where would he even begin? _He’s nice, he’s the nicest person I’ve ever met, I really like how he says my name, I always want to talk to him, but I don’t know what to say._

A pause. “He’s a good guy,” Haru says. That’s all he’ll give.

Haru already regrets speaking up, because Inoue _squeals_ , and it hurts his ears.

+

He wants to find out what the boy in the gazebo looks like – the quirk of his lips when he smiles, the color of his eyes, the bones on his face. Everyday, he feels like he’s getting closer to finding out. For every drawing, he zooms in just a tiny bit more.

He draws before Aoyama comes over to eat dinner, right here in Haru’s apartment. He cleaned everything up, just for the occasion. He wiped up the dust accumulated on all the decorations his parents bought for him – the vase, the glass statues, the gold frames with their photos. After that, he took a bath for a whole hour, which is pretty normal, considering. 

Now, he’s lying down, he’s waiting, and he’s outlining the face of a boy.

When Haru opens the door for Aoyama, he’s greeted with a smile. Haru thinks, _hm, he really does that a lot_. 

A whole meal is ready – mackerel, ramen, steamed veggies, and rice. 

“You’re a really good cook, Hasegawa-kun,” Aoyama says.

“Thanks,” Haru says, taking a bite of the fish.

“I’m glad we decided to do this.”

“Yeah, me too.”

After a number of lunches together, Haru thought dinner was naturally the next step to take. Aoyama agreed, after some hesitation. 

They talk about school, the professors they hate, the deadlines they need to meet. Aoyama’s days are full of papers, papers, papers. Haru wonders what that’s like. He’s never been good at literature. 

“I was never good at that, back in boarding school,” Haru says, which brings them to the topic of, “Wait, so you went boarding school, Hasegawa-kun?”

Haru explains. He hasn’t thought about his old school in weeks. It feels weird, because the place took up most of his life.

“I wish my life was as interesting as yours,” Aoyama says, with another smile.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I’m not that interesting,” Haru says.

“Well, you are, to me, at least.” Aoyama bites a piece of cabbage. 

Briefly, Haru thinks about this. He doesn’t know what interesting is even supposed to mean in this context, because his story seems run of the mill among his old classmates. Though, he remembers what they used to tell them,

“You are all prodigies. And you will be leaders someday.” Haru lets out a breath. “They always used to tell us that.”

“They were on to something, Hasegawa-kun. I, for one, think you’re really amazing.”

Haru has to look at him. “Don’t say that,” he says, prompting Aoyama to let out a laugh.

The dinner ends like so—satisfying despite the awkwardness. Haru invites Aoyama to stay and watch a movie, _or something_ , but Aoyama says he has to leave. “Still have some things to study for,” he says. “Next time, though. For sure.” 

Haru nods, and he says, “I’d like to do this again, sometime, Aoyama-san. I mean—I was really happy you came, and I—well—yeah.”

“We’ll do this again, for sure,” Aoyama says, and then he ruffles Haru’s hair.

He leaves, and Haru resumes his drawing. He thinks he’s pulled off a breakthrough, tonight. It dawns on him who the boy in the gazebo actually is. Haru isn’t surprised, though he’s a little confused, because this Aoyama is younger, and this Aoyama has fear in his eyes. Haru wonders. He wants to erase this. He wants to scrub off the fear, and he wants to replace it with a smile, with happiness. Aoyama deserves it.

+

They form a routine: I’ll see you in the train, I’ll walk you to your classroom, I’ll wait for you at lunch, _hi, hello_ , we’re on the train again, wanna eat dinner? My treat.

Aoyama becomes a staple to Haru’s days.

And it becomes a normal occurrence, drawing him. Haru doesn’t tell. He doesn’t think he can.

+

In the break between semesters, Haru doesn’t see Aoyama anywhere. He’s not taking the train. He’s never in any of the stores. He’s nowhere. Haru thinks, _yeah, okay_ , he’s probably on holiday somewhere, though Haru has no way to find out, because they’re stupid and they never thought of getting each other’s emails.

He only sees him again on the last day of break. He’s at Haru’s door, and his smile is small. He has stubble building under his chin. His glasses are no longer the big ones with circular lenses. They are small and rectangular.

“Hi,” Aoyama says.

“Hi,” Haru says.

“I’m sorry I never said anything.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“My family just really wanted me back in Tottori, and it was last minute, and, well—yeah—I wanted to tell you, Hasegawa-kun.”

Haru gulps, gripping the doorframe. “Like I said, no need to apologize.”

Aoyama’s face floods with worry. 

He holds Haru’s elbow, but let’s go almost instantly, as if he’s been struck by static.

“I don’t know why, but I was—really, really sad when I couldn’t see you.” He bows his head and scratches the back of his neck.

Haru looks away and bites the inside of his lip. He swallows before he manages to say, “Yeah. Me too.”

Silence covers them for a while. Aoyama leans against the doorframe and bows his head.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I was—I wasn’t sure you’d be home, actually. But something told me that you would be.”

Haru covers his mouth to hide a chuckle. “Where else would I even go, Makoto?” 

Aoyama flinches, visibly. His small smile turns into a big grin. “We are so weird,” Aoyama says, shaking his head.

Haru nods. “Yeah.”

They stand in silence. Haru is not sure what this is supposed to be. He doesn’t want to look straight into Aoyama’s eyes because of what he might see. It terrifies him to think of it. Haru rubs his shoulder, and he says, “Do you want to come in?” to break the silence. 

“What for though?” Aoyama says, a tremble coating his laugh.

“I don’t know. Stuff, probably.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah. We can do—stuff. Like—I dunno. Just stuff.”

“Well, if you put it that way.”

Aoyama’s face is nothing but light. This is the face Haru wants to draw, paint, memorize.

Haru smiles back, though only slightly.

Aoyama holds his hand.

+

“It’s me, it’s me, it’s all me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t either.” 

Aoyama rests his head on Haru’s knee. He is sitting on the floor, flipping through Haru’s sketchbook, while Haru sits still on the bed.

“It just happens,” Haru says.

“They’re beautiful,” Aoyama laughs. “I know—It’s weird—This is all me—But, god—You make everything look so beautiful, Hasegawa-kun.”

“Thank you,” Haru replies. “It means a lot.”

“But I still don’t understand why you like drawing me so much.”

Haru shrugs.

“Like I said. It just happens.”

Aoyama looks up. “That’s not enough of an answer, Hasegawa-kun.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” Haru says.

Aoyama doesn’t seem satisfied by the response. He looks at the drawings again, and Haru watches him as he fingers through his own face, probably wondering how Haru managed to get everything exactly right. Haru doesn’t know either.

+

From: aoyamamakoto@yahoo.co.jp

To: hasegawaharuka@yahoo.co.jp

Subject: Hello

This is you, right?

 

From: hasegawaharuka@yahoo.co.jp

To: aoyamamakoto@yahoo.co.jp

Subject: Re: Hello

Yeah. Of course it is.

 

From: aoyamamakoto@yahoo.co.jp

To: hasegawaharuka@yahoo.co.jp

Subject: Whew

It feels weird texting you. 

 

From: hasegawaharuka@yahoo.co.jp

To: aoyamamakoto@yahoo.co.jp

Subject: Re: Whew

Yeah. 

+

 _I’d rather hear your voice_.

+

“So you mean to tell me you still aren’t dating, after all that?” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Inoue.”

“Just leave him alone, Michiko-chan!”

“Hmph.”

Haru rolls his eyes.

 _Dating_ will never seem like the right term for what they’re doing, Haru thinks. It’s so much more than that.

+

They find a spot where the sun isn’t blaring so Makoto can take a picture of them, of just their faces. Their cheeks are touching, both a little sweaty, and Haru is actually smiling, something he rarely does in photos.

 _Makoto_. That’s what he calls him now.

Walking through the temple garden, they keep their bodies close, with Makoto’s arm hooked around Haru’s shoulders. The surroundings are quiet, the air is thin, and the maple trees are bright green. Haru takes it all in, ogles, breathes. 

Makoto makes them stop walking and he lifts up his camera with a free hand so he can take a snap shot of the scenery in front of them – the pond, the statues, the architecture. Haru watches him, quietly, and he sneaks fingers onto Makoto’s arm. 

“We should say a prayer,” Haru says, and Makoto agrees with him, smiles, and almost skips as he pulls them toward the temple. 

_I hope our exhibit will go well._

_I hope we can do this again._

_I hope he knows how I feel about him_.

They leave riding their rented bicycle. Makoto steers while Haru grabs on to him from behind. From afar, there are mountains, and on the other side, there is a river, where small boats are ready to be ridden. The wind rushing through them smells like the river water, and Haru likes it. He thinks it would have been even better if the cherry blossoms were in bloom, but everything is beautiful nonetheless. They pass through little shops and restaurants, through swarms of tourists taking pictures. Haru almost wants to stop, because he wants to buy Makoto the goldfish displayed in one of the shops. Makoto says he doesn’t need to, “No need to trouble youself.” 

In his mind, he’s already painting a picture.

The bike is surrendered to the station, as Makoto and Haru decide to call it a day and head back to the city.

They buy steamed buns from a vendor before they board. They finish the food slowly as the train moves. They sit next to each other, bodies still stuck together. After eating, they share small talk, “It was fun today, wasn’t it?” “It’s a good thing we had nothing to do this weekend.” “I’m so glad I could be with you.” 

“Yeah, me too,” says Haru.

It is only natural, Haru thinks, that he should hold Makoto’s hand. It’s the perfect moment. He takes Makoto’s hand and he tangles their fingers together. Makoto tilts back his head and closes his eyes. He meets Haru halfway, tightening their grip on each other.

It is also natural, Haru thinks, that he should lean in. Amidst the quiet hum of the train moving on the tracks and the muffled murmurs of the few people around them, Haru leans in, and Makoto looks, leans in as well, lifting his a hand to hold Haru’s cheek. He’s warm, and gentle. Haru leans in more.

In a moment, they kiss, and Haru’s breathing suddenly stops. 

+

Haru and Saito are sitting on stools, waiting for Inoue to say when they should go to their stations. The other painters are talking among themselves in another corner of the gallery, but Haru doesn’t feel like socializing with any of them.

Saito asks him, “Are you nervous, Haru-chan? It looks like a lot of people are gonna be coming in today.”

Haru says, “My—Well, Makoto—He told me not to worry, so I’m not going to worry.”

“His words must mean a lot to you, huh?” she says.

“They do,” Haru says. “But—“ Suddenly, his khaki pants and his long-sleeved shirt start feeling too tight. He tugs his collar. “But I still can’t help but feel a little nervous.”

“Me too,” she says, her smile sheepish, her laugh feigned.

They get the go signal, and Haru readies the note cards for all his works. Makoto prepared the cards for him. He would never have done it himself. Too much effort.

It’s a relief that no one asks him too much. They just want a little background on why he painted this lake, and this temple, and why he put this expression, on this face, of this certain boy. 

He’s relieved, though his forehead is still covered in sweat. The patrons come and go, and it makes him nervous every time they squint at his paintings.

It’s later in the day that Makoto comes, immediately going to where Haru is and hooking an arm around Haru’s shoulders. He wipes Haru’s forehead with a handkerchief before he kisses it, quick. 

“I told you not to worry, right?” he says, while he gives Haru’s cheek some light pats and a pinch.

“You did,” Haru says. “And like I said, it means a lot. But it doesn’t exactly—appease me.”

“Well, Haru, let me tell you—If anyone dares to criticize you, I’m going to scold them.”

“Scold them?” 

“Yes.” Makoto makes an indignant face, and it makes Haru smile.

“Okay, you do that,” Haru says.

He’s unable to resist the urge to hug Makoto tight. He doesn’t care that there are a lot of people around. It’s not like this is an uncommon sight, in this day and age.

It’s a week later when Haru and his classmates are given their feedback. The audience favorite was Inoue’s triptych of a shark performing day-to-day human activities. Haru doesn’t know if he understands the appeal. Inoue says she just knew she’d be number one. She bares out her teeth as she grins. Haru notices that they’re looking sharper than ever. It makes him laugh.

Haru’s feedback is also good. They like his style, his realism, his quiet colors. The only criticism is that one or two paintings were too been-there-done-that. Haru nods along, makes mental notes, while his professor relays to him the comments.

Later that night, he’s on Makoto’s bed, trying to pull out curly hair out of Makoto’s head. The apartment is small, as the kitchen and the bed and living room are all in one space. There are paintings on the wall, one of a butterfly, another of a girl with red hair. Haru notices that the glasses of the frames are autographed by the artists, all of whom he’s familiar with. He’s pretty sure they went to the same school as him.

While he looks around and while he works on Makoto’s head, Haru tells him about the feedback, and he’s met with congratulations and a tight hug. 

Haru continues pulling out the hair. _I couldn’t have done it without you_ , he wants to say, but he doesn’t have the will to say it. 

Instead, he pulls a hair, flicks it away, stops, and makes himself lie down with Makoto, who won’t let him go.

The smell of cologne is strong, and it makes Haru want to dip himself into Makoto’s body. He does exactly that by curling into him, nose to Makoto’s chest.

Makoto’s hand is right at Haru’s waist, caressing him lightly, fingers playing with the garter of Haru’s shorts. 

Haru slips a hand into Makoto’s shirt, wanting to feel his abdomen, how hard and how warm it is. He gives Makoto a quick kiss right at his pectoral. He sneaks a hand to grip his upper arm.

Makoto releases him, and Haru watches as he sits up.

“Get on my lap,” Makoto says.

Haru follows. He gets up to straddle him. Suddenly, he’s feeling nervous, and it doesn’t help that they’ve started boring into one another. Their eyes are large, and their breaths are sharp. Makoto’s hands are warm on Haru’s back.

They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss, and drool starts to drip from Haru’s mouth. Makoto’s lips move like flowing water. Haru grinds against him. Makoto feels so warm, and it makes Haru decide that he wants every single thing that has to do with him. His lips, his cheeks, the sweat on his neck.

“Mako,” he whines, the name feeling too familiar on his tongue.

“Haru,” Makoto goes, and it bleeds like a jab into Haru’s chest.

Makoto takes him that night. It’s the first time Haru is ever doing this, and he doesn’t know how it’s supposed to work. Though, with Makoto, it feels horribly right, horribly familiar. _It’s him, he’s in me, I love him_.

They make a mess out of the lubricant. Haru tries to do it himself, even though Makoto insists that it’d be easier if he were the one to do it. They take long. Makoto is kissing his neck and jacking him off while he tries to finger himself. Haru bucks, and in a while, Makoto’s fingers have taken their place in Haru’s entrance.

He’s breathing hard, and he’s hugging Makoto’s neck. The thrusts are slow. There’s still pain, but it’s clouded by how good it feels to be held. Haru takes in Makoto’s smell, and it makes his cock twitch. He loves it; it makes him want to cry.

Haru takes note: _Makoto likes to kiss me while he’s inside me. He acts as if I’m fragile. I tell him not to be so slow, but it doesn’t work. He insists on driving me crazy._

The tears follow, while he still hugs Makoto’s neck as if his life depended on it. Makoto cries as well, sobbing out Haru’s name.

_I missed you, I missed you._

Haru cries on him. “I missed you,” he whispers, breathing sharply and hoarsely. Makoto nods and nods, says the same thing, and cries some more. 

They kiss, their mouths soft and swollen, and they look at each other’s eyes. Haru sees sadness, and longing, and love. He rubs a finger on Makoto’s cheek to wipe off his tears. They grow quiet, wrapped in each other under the dim light of the fluorescent bulb. Nothing makes sense, but Haru will bear whatever, because Makoto’s breath is hot on his skin and Makoto’s hand, resting on his chest, helps his heart find the right speed.

+

When Makoto was a child, he lived in a small house in the middle of a small town. The first floor was a bakery, and the second floor had two bedrooms, one for his parents and one for him and his sister. Makoto says he remembers everything fondly, how the wheat bread smelled and how he would always read a book whenever he was sitting at the cashier. 

Makoto tells him this while they’re at the bread aisle at the supermarket. Haru is pushing the cart, while Makoto examines the food.

“It’s really embarrassing,” Makoto says. “I’m a baker’s son, yet I kind of—suck. At baking.”

“They never taught you?”

“Well—They tried to. I was just never interested.” He lets out a puff of air, as he places a pack of cheese bread into the cart. “My parents were always gung-ho about it. Though my sister—Ranko-chan—I think she’s going to take over the business when she gets older.”

“Hmm,” Haru muses. 

“And—Well,” Makoto laughs, and then he looks at Haru with cheeky grin. “Maybe I was waiting for a better cook to come along?” he says.

Haru raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you were,” he goes.

Later, at Haru’s apartment, Haru refuses to cook anything and forces Makoto to make them sandwiches for their dinner. Makoto complies, and they end up with grilled cheeses. He sets up a movie to make the dinner a little more enjoyable. They watch an old Western film about robots killing giant monsters that rose from the sea.

When the movie is done, Haru makes sure he’s the one who starts the kissing. Tonight, he wants Makoto to fuck him on the couch. He had a dream about it a few nights ago, and it looked fun, how the Haru and Makoto in the dream held one another.

Makoto doesn’t disappoint. Again, he makes Haru’s heart feel like it’s about to burst from his chest.

“I love you,” Haru says.

“I’m the same, you know.”

Haru presses his lips onto Makoto’s cheek. “Of course I know,” he says. 

When they sleep, they clutch each other, as their habit goes.

When they wake up, they’re kissing. Makoto’s rising, and Haru’s sitting on his lap. Haru holds Makoto’s hair while Makoto kisses his neck. 

In a while, they stop, and they move on to the things they have to do. 

Makoto leaves, off to his part time job at the public library. Haru leaves, off to his internship at the advert agency. They separate, heading to different parts of town for their spring break jobs.

Haru sits on a stool for most of the day, writing the minutes for his boss’ meetings with clients, with a band deciding on the cover art for their upcoming album, with a fashion house deciding on the aesthetics for their spring campaign.

At lunch, people are gathered at the flat screen in the break room, watching live coverage of an event at the imperial palace. Haru overhears a few phrases: “portraits presented,” “exceptional artists,” “top art schools.” He shrugs it off, thinking it’s same old, same old. 

He thinks he’s had a few pieces sent to the emperor a few years back. He’s not exactly sure.

By 4 in the afternoon, Haru is rushing out of the building so he can catch his train back to his part of town.

Once at home, he realizes that he hadn’t brought his phone when he went out. He discovers texts from Inoue, rambling about an old classmate she saw on the TV, being hailed at the palace. He discovers another text from Saito, saying that she has a date next Friday, “What am I supposed to do, Haru-chan???” 

Of course, there are messages from Makoto.

From: aoyamamakoto@yahoo.co.jp

To: hasegawaharuka@yahoo.co.jp

Subject: HARUUU

I’m sure you didn’t bring your phone to work but I just wanted to say that I already miss you. And I love you.

+

From: aoyamamakoto@yahoo.co.jp

To: hasegawaharuka@yahoo.co.jp

Subject: hello

Hardly anyone ever comes here to read. I’m bored.

+

From: aoyamamakoto@yahoo.co.jp

To: hasegawaharuka@yahoo.co.jp

Subject: hello again

I’ve just finished processing 100 books into the system. I’m tired. I think they’ll let me out now.

+

A smile forms on Haru’s face as he reads through the messages. There are more. Makoto says he thinks the librarian hates him. He says he thinks he needs new glasses. _Haru, there’s a new book here about fractal art, do you want me to check it out? Haru, I think you’re gonna love it here, please come over, sometime, if you want to._ At one point, it was drizzling, and Makoto says the weather looked so nice from the window. Haru remembers the first time he saw him in the train, how he couldn’t stop looking at the rain as it poured outside. 

+

From: hasegawaharuka@yahoo.co.jp 

To: aoyamamakoto@yahoo.co.jp

Subject: hi

I’m home. Come over?

+

They eat dinner side by side at Haru’s dining table. Makoto tries stealing the largest piece of mackerel, but Haru slaps his hand and glares at him. “I don’t love you that much,” he says, making Makoto frown.

Instantly, the joke is taken back as Haru decides to feed him. 

“Haru—Where do you see yourself, after college?” Makoto asks, when they’re done eating the main course and off to eating dessert – taiyaki with some tea on the side.

“I’ve already told you a thousand times,” Haru replies. “I just want to make things—I don’t care where I’m going to do it. In the ad firm, or all on my own, I don’t care.”

Makoto smiles at him. “Okay, Haru,” he says. 

“And you—You want to be—A writer?”

Makoto nods. “Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s—a lofty ambition.”

“Not at all,” Haru says. “I—“ He gulps. He’s imagined what it’d be like for them, in the future. Makoto would have novels out, novels that people would actually buy in paperback, not just download on their tablets. Haru would also have stuff out there, on display maybe, in a gallery, or maybe as a poster for some company; he doesn’t know. They’d be living together, and they’d have this happy life. 

_I just want to be with him._

“I think we can do it,” Haru says, closing his eyes.

_I think we already have, somewhere, back then._

“That’s a promise,” Makoto says, leaning in, smiling, showing Haru his pinky finger. “You and me, Haru. We’re going to do it. We’re gonna succeed together.”

Haru kisses him as he seals the deal, connects their pinkies.

They are laughing afterward, hands together, foreheads against the other’s. Makoto tells him that what they did seems awfully embarrassing. Haru agrees, wholeheartedly.

+

In the morning, he tells Makoto about the dream he had, just last night, about the boat and the fish and the man who was waiting.

“I died,” Haru says. “And you—You were dead too.”

They hug it out, and Makoto tells him to pretend he never dreamt it.

The words help him get through the day. The routine is the same. He goes to work, he goes home, and he sends Makoto a message. He strips off his clothes, and wears loose ones that show off his collarbone. He waits for Makoto on his bed, and he starts a new drawing.

Their bodies are his starting point.

“This is me,” Haru says, pointing to his face. “And this is you,” he says, pointing to the other. “And we’re happy,” he adds. “You see? We’re happy.”

It’s barely finished, barely outlined. He shades the hair while Makoto watches from beside him. “It has to be perfect,” Haru says, “Because it’s the first time I drew myself.”

“You haven’t drawn yourself before?”

“No, I haven’t. Or at least I can’t remember.”

Makoto hums, amused. 

In Haru’s head, he sees a picture of him and Makoto standing together in front of the ocean, holding hands while their feet are buried in the sand. They are older, a little taller, and a little wiser.

“I’m not afraid anymore.”

“I know you aren’t.”

The ocean waves are light. Makoto’s hand is warm. Haru looks up and sees a dark sky. It’s about to rain, and from the look on Makoto’s face, it’s obvious that he knows this. His smile, Haru sees, is small, and fake, and frightened.

“Whenever it rains,” Haru says. “You should think of me.”

His breath is sharp. His laugh is joined by a tremble. “Why, Haru?” he says.

It starts to rain. The water falls down his cheeks. Haru tilts his head, closes his eyes, revels at how good it feels, revels at how happy it can make him, the gentle touch of drizzle. He tells Makoto, “Just because,” and ends it at that.

“When I finish this, I want you to have it,” Haru tells him, not even pausing to look at him.

“Why, Haru?” 

The words make him flinch. He closes his eyes. “Just because,” he says, before he starts again, and adds a detail to Makoto’s face.

 

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who'd like to know, this was the prompt:  
> "Reincarnation AU. They're born again, but they don't meet until college. Makoto's still tall but maybe in this life he wears glasses instead of contacts. Maybe Haru's an artist instead of a swimmer. Either way the universe still finds a way to put them together and they can't help but run into each other all over the city somehow. Preferred focus on flustered!makoharu and their slow budding relationship since they can't help but feel like they know each other, as if they've met somewhere before. Also references to their free! lifetime like Makoto saying he's oddly tired of eating mackerel for some reason, Haru winning goldfish for Makoto, vague references to other characters like Gou, Nagisa, Rei, etc. Maybe Haru feels really drawn to Makoto in this life, ends up drawing him without thinking, walking to places he think Makoto would be (but Haru doesn't know /how/ he knows these things)."


End file.
